


One Night in Italy

by omgericzimmermann (HMSLusitania)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, canon typical drinking, frisbee au, real life masquerading as crack, total crack fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/omgericzimmermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The service is terrible, there's too much wine, and swimming in that fountain seems like a great idea - until Shitty steals their pants and takes off at a dead sprint into the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night in Italy

**Author's Note:**

> So, true story. 
> 
> (this fic, this fic is the true story, my childhood was beyond fucked you guys)
> 
> \- also this is unbetad because I didn't want to inflict that on anyone, and it is total trash -

The service here is terrible, Bitty thinks to himself while taking another sip of his wine. They’ve been at this restaurant for the better part of the last three hours, and the waitress keeps bringing them more wine but never their food. The tables all around them have been served, paid, left. The rest of their teammates have eaten, their opponents have eaten, the girls from the women’s league tournament. Everyone except the six of them.

Bitty is glad he’s here, though. He’s glad he joined the local pick up Frisbee team, that they’re doing well, that they’re in fucking _Italy_ for a tournament. He’s pretty sure they’re going to win the Spirit of the Game award if nothing else. But mostly he’s just thinking that because he’s drunk as shit and hasn’t eaten since this afternoon and he’s been playing beach Frisbee for several days. His calves are killing him, but he’s kind of okay with that because the wine is getting to him and he’s in the best company.

Their team is small, but they’re a great group of international co-ed players, and Bitty wouldn’t change it for the world. There’s him, a baker working out of Samwell, MA. Shitty – Bitty doesn’t actually know his real name – is a lawyer in Cambridge where he lives with Lardo – real name Larissa and Bitty’s glad he knows that because he’d be concerned otherwise – who’s an artist. There’s Ransom, a doctor from Toronto who plays when he’s got free time, and there’s Holster, who plays in Buffalo normally. Their team is a hodgepodge of people who wanted to go to this tournament but whose normal teams couldn’t fully acquire all the funds to get there or had commitments. There’s Caitlin and Chris from the Bay Area, March and April who live in Bitty’s neck of the woods, Camilla, Dex and Nursey who live in Vermont where Dex is a professor and Nursey writes. But the person Bitty likes most on their team is Jack, who is from Montreal.

Because Jack is tall and blue eyed and just so goddamn pretty and Bitty really just wants to snuggle up to him at any given moment. But probably that’s just the wine talking.

“I swear to god, we’re never getting food,” Holster complains, listing sideways and colliding with Ransom’s shoulder. Bitty’s not sure if they knew each other before this tournament, but he’s pretty sure they _know_ each other now.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Ransom says, petting the side of Holster’s face. Bitty giggles and stares at the seven empty wine bottles on the table. They’ve been there for literal hours drinking.

“I’m hungry,” Holster says.

“I wonder if that chicken tenders place is still open,” Jack says, frowning with arctic intensity at his empty wine glass.

“How many times have you been to that place this week?” Lardo asks, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Um,” is Jack’s only reply. He’s had less to drink than most of them, Bitty knows, but Bitty happens to be the one who drank the rest of Jack’s bottle of wine, so he’s not really in control of his actions when he squishes his face against Jack’s shoulder.

“We should go get chicken nuggets,” Shitty suggests.

But before they can go, the waitress finally brings their food. They fall on it like they’re starving – which they kind of are, Bitty reflects. They’re a team of world-class athletes and they haven’t eaten since before noon when they’d sent Chris Chow (known affectionately as Chowder) on a run to disc central to grab a bag of bagels. Nursey, being from New York, was horrified by their quality, but didn’t say anything because stale bagels and jars of cheap peanut butter are part of the Frisbee experience.

They manage to polish off another bottle of wine by the time they finish dinner and are all walking funny by the time they leave the restaurant. With a jolt, Bitty realises it’s one in the morning when he looks at his phone.

“Oh! Chris and Caitlin are at the party,” he says when he finally reads the text message illuminated on his phone. “We should stop by!”

“Yeah brah, sounds like a fucking plan,” Shitty says, his arm draped across Lardo’s shoulders.

The six of them stagger down the street. The east coast of Italy in May is absolutely beautiful and the restaurant is close enough to the beach that Bitty can hear the waves crashing in the distance. The night is perfectly clear and if it weren’t for the city lights, they’d be able to see the stars. As it is, the inky darkness is warm and soothing and comfortable. The city is beautiful, and he’s with people he loves very much.

As they’re walking towards the night club that’s hosting that night’s party (as opposed to last night’s which had put them on a bus with a bunch of drunk Austrians and now Bitty can say with confidence that he knows at least six words in German because of the drinking song they’d been taught) they reach a fountain in the centre of a square. Bitty stops to stare at it. The water looks inviting and azure and he really wants to go swimming.

“Guys,” he says. “Y’all. Y’all let’s go swimming.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal brah,” Shitty says, but he’s laughing.

Bitty shrugs and drops his shorts, leaving them on the side of the fountain. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Jack’s eyes trail up his legs.

He steps over the edge into the fountain and the cold water feels fantastic on his sore legs. Lardo is the next to join him, beckoning the others. Ransom and Holster go so far as to leave their shirts by the side of the fountain as well as their shorts.

“Oh my god bro your abs,” Ransom says, staring at Holster in his briefs.

“Right bro?” Holster says, running his hand over his chest with a wink in Ransom’s direction.

“Oh my god you guys are gross,” Lardo informs them, doing a lap around the fountain. Bitty chases her and by the time they get back to the start, Jack is laughing and has dropped his shorts as well. He climbs into the fountain with them and looks briefly offended when Bitty splashes him, but then he laughs as well and starts chasing him around the central statue. Jack’s just caught him, wrapped his oh-so-strong arms around Bitty’s waist and made to dunk him when Lardo clears her throat.

“Hey guys? Where’s Shitty going?”

They all turn to look and see Shitty sprinting off into the night. In the distance, he turns a corner, and vanishes.

“Was it cops?” Holster asks from where he’s draped across Ransom’s shoulders.

“Uh, y’all,” Bitty says, because he’s the first one to notice. The spot on the fountain edge where their shorts and – in Ransom and Holster’s cases – shirts had been sitting is bare.

“Did – Did Shitty just steal our clothes?” Jack asks. Bitty wonders if he suddenly feels self-conscious in his maple leaf print boxers.

“That son of a mother fucker,” Lardo curses, jumping out of the fountain and stepping into her shoes. “Look? Are you guys going to help me find him?”

“Where the hell would he be going?” Ransom demands, putting on his shoes as well. Bitty hates wearing shoes when his feet are wet, but it’s not like he’s got spare fabric to dry them on either.

“Well we know he went that way,” Holster says, pointing down the street. “Let’s go.”

They walk down the street, too tired and drunk to run properly.

“You know you guys are gonna get arrested for public indecency right?” Lardo asks, raising her eyebrow at Ransom and Holster. Ransom’s currently wet tighty-whities leave absolutely nothing to the imagination and Holster’s briefs aren’t much better.

“You mean providing a public service?” Holster asks.

“And what about you?” Ransom asks, nodding pointedly at the fact Lardo’s underwear don’t cover much more than his own.

“Yeah, but I’ve got a cute butt,” Lardo says. Bitty bursts out laughing and stumbles into Jack’s side as a result.

“Are you saying I don’t?” Ransom demands, pressing a hand to his chest in deepest offense.

“Look, you’ve both got cute butts but we all know the truth,” Holster says. “Jack’s got the best ass on the entire team.”

“I’m telling you, that’s what we should’ve done for our game,” Lardo says. “Polaroids and matching.”

“What,” Jack says, his face turning slightly red.

“Like that one team from…where were they from? Belgium?” Holster asks.

“Yeah,” Lardo agrees.

“What,” Jack repeats.

“Oh, that was the game you were stuck at disc central fighting with the organisers wasn’t it,” Bitty says, because he knows exactly what Lardo and Holster are talking about. It had been the funniest post-game game he’d seen. They were given a set of Polaroids of their opponent’s faces and then their opponents turned around, dropped trou, and it was up to their team to identify them based on their butts. Bitty was the undefeated champ.

Jack is duly disgusted and impressed when they explain what they’re talking about.

But before they can dwell, they reach the night club. Bitty isn’t sure when they started heading in that direction, but he’d thought perhaps Shitty might have gone there with their clothes.

“Hey!”

They turn and peer at the line outside the club, discovering Dex and Nursey. For reasons Bitty can’t pretend to comprehend, Nursey is wearing a metallic blue wig and glittery eyeshadow while he gives Dex a piggyback ride.

“Dudes, what happened to your clothes?” Dex asks, eyeing them all suspiciously.

“Shitty stole our pants,” Bitty explains. “And Ransom and Holster’s dignity.”

“Hey!” Ransom and Holster exclaim.

“You haven’t seen him have you?” Lardo asks.

“You’re the one who lives with him,” Nursey points out.

Lardo sighs dramatically.

“Doesn’t he have a cell?” Dex asks, resting his cheek on the back of Nursey’s head. Ah yes, Bitty realises, they’re just as drunk as their pantsless group.

“He left it at the hotel this morning,” Lardo groans. “Ugh, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Good luck!” Nursey says, grinning at them and turning back to the club’s bouncer. The bouncer is eyeing their group suspiciously even though they’re on the other side of the rope. Bitty winks at the man, and they continue their journey.

“Okay, so pretend you’re Shitty,” Holster says. “You’re wasted as fuck, you’ve stolen your teammates clothes, and run off into the night in a foreign city. What do you do?”

“Tell people I was Canadian,” Jack says with solemnity.

The four of them stare at him.

“Jack? Honey? You _are_ Canadian,” Bitty reminds him.

“Yes,” Jack agrees with the same solemn expression.

“Why would Shitty tell people he was Canadian?” Lardo asks.

“Because then he’d be perceived as impish and amusing instead of a deviant asshole like you Americans,” Ransom says. Bitty can’t argue with that logic.

“So do we go around telling anyone we come across that we’re looking for a long haired, moustached Canadian dude carrying a bunch of clothes that don’t belong to him?” Holster asks.

“Oh! I saw that dude!”

They turn to see a small group led by a very pretty blond man wearing a snapback with a spade on it.

“Really? Where?” Lardo asks.

“It was about forty minutes ago. He was heading towards the beach,” the guy says. “You’re the Samwell Irregulars right?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “You guys are over in the Men’s division right?”

“Yeah,” the guy says. Bitty doesn’t miss the way his eyes dance across Jack’s face and too-tight t-shirt before passing over his legs with definite interest. “Vegas Aces.”

“You guys are headed to finals right?” Holster asks.

“Damn straight,” the guy says. “Well, not _straight_ necessarily, but…”

He looks back at Jack as he says it and Bitty has to fight the urge to hiss at him while clinging to Jack. It’s not like he has any ownership of Jack. It’s not like he and Jack even live in the same goddamn country.

“You said Shitty was headed towards the beach?” Bitty prompts.

“Yeah,” the Aces dude says, tearing his eyes off Jack. And now he’s looking at Bitty with the same very interested eyes he’d been giving Jack, which is…interesting. “I’m guessing the clothes he was carrying were yours?”

“Yeah,” Ransom agrees. “Thanks, brah. And good luck in finals!”

“Thanks,” the Aces dude says. “Good luck finding your clothes. Not that people like you should really be covering up.”

Bitty’s glad he’s not alone in giving the Aces dude curious eyes, because it looks like it’s all four of them.

“Come on boys, you can flirt with strangers later,” Lardo says, leading the way towards the beach.

Bitty actually feels a little disappointed at that and looks over his shoulder at the Aces dude while he heads towards the club.

“He was cute,” Bitty says, letting his head loll against Jack’s arm while they walk.

“You’re cute,” Jack says.

“What?” Bitty asks.

“What?” Jack replies, pink flooding his cheeks.

“Did you just call me cute?” Bitty asks. And maybe drunk as hell at two in the morning pantsless in central Rimini is not the place for this conversation, but Bitty doesn’t really care.

“I’m – um--” Jack says.

“Wait, boys,” Lardo says, throwing out a hand to catch them all in the chest. They stop. The beach is immediately to their right, the water pitch dark and ominous. To their left is a restaurant with outdoor seating. It’s still open despite the hour and sitting at one of the tables, Bitty recognises that moustache.

“Get him!” Ransom shouts, hurtling over the fence around the restaurant and tackling Shitty back to the table before he can escape. Shitty is laughing while Holster pins him down. Bitty grabs their clothes from the pile and pulls on his shorts, tossing Jack his. When he turns back around, Lardo is holding Shitty’s underwear and Ransom has the rest of his clothes. Shitty is naked as the day he was born on the picnic table.

“Fucking run!” Lardo says, jumping the fence and sprinting off. Bitty glances at Jack and then takes off after her. Ransom follows seconds later holding the rest of Shitty’s clothes, and then Holster and Jack are with them. Behind them, Bitty can hear Shitty swearing at them, but he’s still laughing.

“Just tell them you’re Canadian!” Jack shouts before tripping over a potted plant and colliding with Bitty. Bitty does his best to catch him, but they still stumble into the side of someone’s house and Bitty finds himself pressed against a wall by the unnecessarily hot person that is Jack Zimmermann.

“Sorry,” Jack says, breathing too close to Bitty’s face. Bitty blames the two bottles of wine he’s had that night for the fact he surges up and kisses Jack. He doesn’t really expect Jack to put his hands on Bitty’s waist and pull him closer, but he does. Bitty’s glad they’ve reacquired their shorts because it helps hide the developing problem he’s got.

“Um, we should, uh, we should go back to the hotel,” Bitty says, kissing Jack’s neck while Jack’s hands run down his back to his ass.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, kissing him again.

“About fucking time Jesus fucking Christ!”

They break apart to see Shitty – still completely naked, his hair flowing behind him while he runs – sprinting past them.

“Have you seen my girlfriend?” Shitty asks, pausing next to them. Lardo even took his shoes, Bitty realises, and winces in commiseration. But on the other hand, they’ve been playing barefoot Frisbee in the hot sand for the past three days, so Shitty’s feet are more or less leatherised by now.

“Went that way,” Bitty says pointing in the direction Lardo, Ransom, and Holster had disappeared.

“Thanks brah,” Shitty says. He starts to run off. “Oh. And bros? Get it.”

“Thanks Shitty!” Bitty yells after him as he disappears into the dark. As soon as he’s vanished, Bitty and Jack burst out laughing, Bitty pressing his forehead against Jack’s chest while he shakes from the laughter.

“But we should probably go back to the hotel,” Jack agrees, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Bitty’s neck. “Shitty gets to be the only one on our team arrested for public indecency tonight.”

Bitty nods, his laugh turning into something quite _else_ when Jack’s tongue traces the pulse on his neck.

Their entire team is gloriously hungover the next day when they get to the beach, blinking like newborn kittens in the bright sun.

“Oh god I hate everything,” Nursey complains, lying on his side on the sidelines.

“Hey, did you guys ever find Shitty and your pants?” Dex asks, looking only slightly better than Nursey.

“Yup,” Bitty says. He’s resting against Jack’s shoulder, barely managing to keep his eyes open while Jack blinks blearily at the field. Fortunately, March, April, Camilla, Chris, and Caitlin are less hungover than the rest of them and are perfectly fine being on the field for them.

“The question really is, did Shitty ever find Lardo, Ransom, and Holster and his underwear,” Jack says, taking a healthy swig of Gatorade and offering it to Bitty. Bitty drinks it and hands it back. He hopes sincerely that they can figure out the long distance thing when the tournament’s over.

“Did he?” Nursey asks, lifting his head and looking desperately curious.

“No idea,” Bitty says. “We went back to the hotel.”

 _And had a lot of sex_ , Bitty thinks, but doesn’t say.

An airhorn sounds, signalling five minutes to the end of the game and all four of them flinch. Shitty, Ransom, Holster, and Lardo haven’t been seen yet.

“Oh hey, it’s the guy from the Aces,” Bitty says, as a somewhat familiar blond guy approaches them. He’s holding a bundle of fabric and looks bemused.

“So, the super hot dude you were with last night gave these to me?” he says, extending the fabric to them. Dex holds out his hand and catches Shitty’s underwear while the Aces guy looks concerned.

“Oh, thanks,” Dex says, grimacing.

“If we ever find him, we’ll give them back,” Bitty says.

“You never found him?” the Aces guy asks.

“Oh, we did,” Jack says. He sighs. “And then they stripped him naked and took off running into the night.”

“Haven’t seen any of them since,” Bitty adds.

“I saw them around four at the club,” the Aces guy says.

Bitty nods and then regrets it because it makes his head swim. “Shouldn’t you be playing?”

“We’ve got a by before semis,” the guy says. He looks over at the field where Chris has just passed to Caitlin, scoring them another point and winning them the game. “Hey next year can I come play co-ed with you guys?”

“Are we coming back next year?” Bitty asks, looking up at Jack for an answer. He’s their main organiser.

“I hope so,” Jack says, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s temple.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The tournament they're at is a real one: [Paganello](http://paganello.com/what-is-paganello/). 
> 
> The after-game game where they're made to identify the other players based on their snapshots and their butts was a real one I witnessed. My other favourites include pinata played by hanging a pinata from a soccer net and throwing frisbees at it, and pin the tail on the donkey except the donkey was naked people reaching for a frisbee and the tails were merkins (you get to google that on your own). The reward for that last was a gallon sized mojito topped with bean sprouts mixed by a thirteen year old (me). 
> 
> Reasons there really needs to be a frisbee AU for these people: it's not a frisbee tournament unless there's a party with too much alcohol in it every single night, or if there's not a concerning amount of public nudity, and your team is your family for life. 
> 
> Also I apologise so much for this fic, and you can come yell at me for it [here.](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com)


End file.
